


At the End of the World (I Found You)

by commanderofthe12raccoons (WolfQueenArgent)



Category: Elyza Lex (Fanverse), Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Queer the walking dead - Freeform, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfQueenArgent/pseuds/commanderofthe12raccoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way that was is over. Humanity is on the brink of extinction, and the dead won't stay dead. Alicia Clark would be having a hard time even if she wasn't stuck with the biggest smartass of the apocalypse. But why is Elyza Lex so familiar, and why is she so adamant about protecting Alicia?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Did You Go? (I Had to Stay)

 

_"You took it with you when you left,_

_These scars are just a trace._

_Now it wanders lost and wounded,_

_This heart that I misplaced."_

The Hymn for the Missing; Red

Pale morning sunlight splintered through the blinds, illuminating the cramped kitchen and the lone figure within. The house was small, ill-suited to housing seven people comfortably – especially in the middle of the apocalypse. It was a three-bedroom, so the night had been a game of musical beds (and sofa) with one person always on watch. Travis had called it, "A stop along the way." His voice was full of empty promises and grief, leading with blind optimism just as he had in the Safe Zone. Like he had when he acted as liaison between the people and the soldiers. No one had forgotten his misplaced trust in the government and where it had gotten them.

Strand had deserted them for his yacht. For Abigail. His compound had been secure and easy defensible, equipped with working generators, food/medical supplies, and enough observation decks to spot a walker horde from any angle. After locking them outside the front gate, Strand had lingered to ensure they left. The group, led by Travis's beat-up truck, had gone inland in search of shelter before nightfall. It was reasoned that they would have more room to maneuver should they be attacked, rather than the ocean acting like a barrier at their back.

Sunset was the deciding factor, coming faster than any were comfortable with. The house was located on a small rise, with few windows and only two doors. After fortifying it for the night and sorting out a watch-schedule, the group had gone to weary rest. Mostly, they stared at the ceiling or wall and tried to figure things out.

The warmth of the sun danced across Alicia's back, lulling her into a false sense of peace. Of enjoyment and normalcy. It reminded her of walks home after school, the sun at her back. The steady heat made it easy to pretend that everything was okay. Just another day in Los Angeles, where she could casually text Matt and expect a reply. Matt, with his warm eyes and soft heart. A chill ran the length of her spine despite the warmth, the thought of Matt made her stomach sink.

She looked at her phone, greeted by her own reflection. Alicia was exhausted and it showed; her eyes were bloodshot, hair tangled from tossing and turning all night. She had not slept, instead mulling over all she had seen. It seemed like an extended nightmare: the soldiers, the zones, the bodies in the streets. She tapped the Home button. The lock-screen was a picture of them, happy and carefree on the bleachers. He had only just started his senior art project then, the gray concrete walls still bare except for an outline. It seemed like another lifetime ago. Another Alicia.

Hesitantly, Alicia typed out a text, a simple "Hey" – knowing Matt would never receive it or respond. Deep down she knew – knew that he was gone, that he had become one of those _things –_ but she found it therapeutic to pretend. For just a little longer, she wanted to believe it was just another morning where she was running late for school. A day where she could text Matt "Good morning's" and "I love you's", then blame the tardiness on her mother or Nick. Matt would always text back, sometimes including a picture of his latest masterpiece.

She missed him and his steadfastness. He had been her rock, whether he knew it or not.

 _"That's not Matt!"_ Alicia had screamed, furious and broken and feeling like her heart was going to explode, _"That's not – it's not Matt!"_ She had stared into the watery, blank eyes of Susan Tran, yet had not seen her at all. She had seen _through_ her. Alicia saw the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Matt. His arms outstretched, reaching – always reaching for her with his strong arms and warm embrace – but now for an entirely different reason. Not to hug, but to maim. To destroy. To _kill_. The lips she had been content to kiss parted in a snarl, raspy growls bubbling in Matt's throat as his fingers grasped at empty air.

Travis and Madison had exchanged looks during Alicia's breakdown, as if they had known the entire time. Did they know what Matt would become – was becoming – when they had picked her up? Why had they not told her? It was a shitty form of protection, Alicia realized. They knew she would have stayed with Matt until...until – a sob constricted her chest. It bubbled up her throat like sandpaper, rough and unwanted. Her eyes welled as the thought of Matt as one of those things. He had been so sick and miserable when she had found him, burning with fever while his muscles repeatedly cramped. His once strong arms had barely been able to hug her. His dark eyes had been sad. Had _he_ known? Had Matt sent her away to protect her? Knowing what he would become?

"You're up early," Madison's voice broke Alicia's reverie. She stood in the doorway, her face and hands scrubbed raw and pink. There had been blood spatter there the night before. Madison smiled, though it did not reach her eyes.

What did she have to be sad about, Alicia thought bitterly, she still had Travis. She had not been forced to leave him, knowing something was wrong and that she would most likely never see him again. Alicia wiped her eyes hurriedly, not wanting her mother to see. To question. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. She did not need nor want mother intervention. No amount of hugs or "it will be okay's" from Madison would bring comfort to Alicia, if anything it would frighten her more. Those things were reserved for little kids afraid of the monster under the bed, not a teenager afraid of real monsters at the door.

Alicia just needed time to _be_. To exist and think and breathe. To come to terms with the hell her life had become.

"Yeah," Alicia answered, hoping her voice did not crack and betray the turbulent emotions just beneath the surface. It did. "I slept like shit. Too much to think about, y'know?" She crossed her fingers beneath the table, hoping Madison would not push the topic.

"I didn't sleep much," Madison agreed, nodding like she understood. Her right eyebrow twitched, but otherwise she gave no sign that she had heard the tears in Alicia's voice. She knew her daughter, and sometimes it was easier for everyone to just let Alicia simmer. "Have you eaten anything?"

"No, I'm not really hungry." Alicia swiped across the screen, thumbing through the pictures of Matt. It seemed like there were so few. Why had she not taken more? Tapping back to home, she went to music and popped an earbud into her left ear. Music had always been her sanctuary, providing an escape from the reality of a broken home. Madison had tried, but she had never been able to fill the hole left by their father. The men she had brought home certainly did not. On top of that, Nick's constant battle with drugs had stressed the Clark family to the breaking point. Alicia had been left to find solace, and had found a piece of it in music. And her phone.

"Better conserve your battery," Madison chided, squeezing Alicia's shoulder as she passed, "you don't know when there will be electricity again to charge it." There was no guarantee the electricity would come back. The power grid was down and unattended, and what parts could work had been shut-off via government orders. A few cellular towers still functioned around Los Angeles, part of the latest push to go green. Renewable power had been the wave of the future, but that future looked very bleak now. Several of the towers had been outfitted with solar panels and small turbines – those still functioned. Communication was still possible. If there was anyone left to communicate with.

"Some of the towers are still up," Alicia muttered, frustrated. Even during the apocalypse her mother could not let her have peace. She had heard it before, the same argument against her phone but with a different reason. Madison had never been fond of Alicia's phone-attachment, but Alicia had never liked Madison's boyfriends so the feeling was mutual.

Madison clucked, "For now, but even those will go down with no maintenance." A few boxes of bottled water were stacked against the backdoor, topped with jugs of water (boiled for sanitation) taken from Strand's. Its weight lent itself as a barricade. Shuffling jugs, Madison fished out a bottle, uncapped it, and took a long drink. "God, I miss coffee."

Alicia rolled her eyes, wrapping the cord of her headphones around her phone before tucking it into her shorts pocket. "Gee, Mom – thanks for the bleak outlook. Like this will never be fixed and we'll have to live like cavemen for the rest of forever." She hated how everyone was treating it like the new normal. This could not be the new normal, Alicia refused to believe that. There had to be a light at the end of the walker-infested tunnel.

Opening a cabinet, Madison began to pick through the contents in search of non-perishables. They would have to – were going – to move on, and needed supplies for the journey ahead. She examined the expiration date on each can, stacking them neatly by type. Perishable items that were still edible she sorted into two piles, foods that had to be eaten immediately and those that could wait. "Want to help me?"

Alicia ignored the question, listening to the quiet voices coming from elsewhere in the house. Daniel was whispering to Ofelia in the living room, checking on her again. He had multiple times throughout the night, dutifully cleaning and dressing her wound. Travis was trying to comfort Chris, though that was going as well as could be expected. She did not hear Nick, he was probably the only one that had gotten any sleep.

"At least eat something," Madison sighed in exasperation. The no-nonsense-mother-tone was usually reserved for Nick. Selecting a few boxes of cereal from the perishable piles, she set them on the table.

"Gluten-free, remember?"

Madison opened her mouth to argue, to point out that the apocalypse was the wrong time to be a picky eater; yet, there was no annoyance in her eyes. Just exhaustion. "Alicia, please just...," her words tapered off as Daniel entered.

He had not changed the night before, leaving the clothes wrinkled from his attempt at sleeping in them. The sleeves of his coat were speckled with dried blood from Ofelia and the walkers he had killed during the infiltration of the government facility. Daniel's eyes were alert, flickering from Alicia to Madison. "Ofelia is doing better," he said, seeing the question in their eyes, "but there is still much healing to be done."

"I'm glad," Madison smiled, relieved, "how did she do last night?"

"As well as could be expected. The pills you gave her for pain helped," Daniel carefully enunciated his words, ensuring he was understood, "our medical supplies are running low. We need more bandages, more ointments, pills." He took one of the water jugs, taking a bowl from the sink he had used the night before. He filled it carefully, preparing to clean Ofelia's gunshot wound.

"We'll see what we can find," Madison said, turning back to the cabinets.

Daniel grunted in acknowledgment, leaving the room with the bowl of water.

Alicia waited until his footsteps had died away, glancing at her mother, "When can we move on?" It felt like they had been stuck for weeks, unable to move forward. She was sick of it. Sick of all the dead. Sick of seeing the city she had loved torn to pieces, burning to the ground.

"Whenever we're dead," Nick's scratchy voice answered, pulling a chair noisily from the table. It scraped across the cheap tile, making Alicia cringe and give him the finger. He grinned in response, plopping down and dragging it with his weight on it to make the noise worse.

Madison shot him a warning look, "Nick."

"Jesus, the apocalypse sucks," Nick ran his fingers through his limp, greasy hair, "why did we glorify this shit before everything went to hell? It was all dystopian societies and zombies, but were we ready?" His eyes were sunken and rimmed with black, and a nervous tick had developed in his neck. He kept looking anxiously to Madison, wanting more pills.

"No," Alicia smiled humorlessly, which Nick mirrored, "we must all be masochists."

"Had to be."

Nick reached for the box of Frosted Flakes, pulling the open bag out and unrolling it. He popped a few into his mouth, gagging a moment later. Spitting the partially-chewed flakes into his hand, he rasped, "Tastes like ass!"

"It's been open for a few weeks, genius. What did you expect?" Alicia tried to muffle her laughter, but failed. Nick joined in, as did Madison. It felt good to laugh. To let go and crack jokes like they used to. It almost felt like when they were younger, staying up late waiting for their father to come home: Madison washing dishes, the kids snacking and doing homework at the table.

Pulling it together enough to look disapproving, Madison cracked a smile. A moment later it was gone, replaced by bitterness, "We wouldn't be trying to find food if Strand hadn't left us." She had taken it the hardest when Strand had ousted them, attempting to hit him and, when that did not work and Travis had to physically drag her away, screaming that their deaths would be on his head.

Alicia did not blame her. They thought they had found a safe place, like when the Safe Zones had been erected. A place where they could start over and piece things together. Now, they were on the move again.

Nick groaned, rubbing his face, "What does it matter, huh? He got me out. He got us out of downtown. Far as I'm concerned, he's helped a lot."

Withdrawal had hit Nick hard. After stealing morphine from the sick man next door, he was as addicted as he had ever been. He had been denied pills at the facility, stopped cold turkey – the constant body tremors and cold sweats could attest to that. Madison had a small number of pills, some she had taken from the school lockup and others from the facility's ward, but not enough to wean Nick as slowly as he needed. His mood was reflecting the need, temper flaring at the slightest provocation. His face was drawn and pale, resembling one of the shambling corpses.

Alicia looked hard at her brother, really looked at him. She looked past the drugs, the lack of ambition, and his constant "I'll do better next time's". He was alive. Nick was alive because Strand had gotten him out. Had saved Nick from a facility meant to help people, yet had caged them like animals for slaughter. Even if he never took it, Nick had a 2nd (102nd?) chance to battle his addiction.

This was the government's fault. Reports had come in from multiple states, but civilians had not realized the severity of the outbreak – of what was coming. The government had wanted them in the dark, to keep panic down and to avoid questions. Maybe they were the ones who had released the – _whatever it was_ – that had started the chaos, Alicia thought. She had never been one for conspiracy theories, but this was a new situation outside her experience. Where else _could_ something like this have come from? On the other hand, the government seemed woefully unprepared to deal with it. They were as scared as the populace. Their focus had narrowed, signaling out soldiers, doctors, and useful staff. People that could help protect and keep the government afloat.

Soldiers were the obvious front line, sent onto the streets to corral non-infected and dispose of infected (and non-infected, according to what Madison had seen upon leaving the Safe Zone). Doctors could keep the soldiers fighting, stitching them up and sending them back out on pain pills and adrenaline. Staff would keep the doctors fed and taken care of, while also taking care of soldiers and higher-up government officials. But what were civilians? Cannon fodder. Zombie bait. Potential infected. Even Strand, who had money and means, was still restricted to a cell – which meant it was no longer about numbers and status. It was a well-oiled machine, and the more Alicia thought about it the more it made sense. Any theory she thought of too long made sense, because the situation was senseless. It did not make sense, so any logic applied to it became an answer to be attached.

Silence hung heavy in the air, broken by stomping footsteps as Chris rounded the corner followed by Travis. "Chris, talk to me. We need to talk about -" Travis's voice was desperate, his eyes wet with tears. He had been the one to pull the trigger and end Liza's misery before the infection took her, but Chris did not understand. Chris could not understand. He had always been closer to his mother, and now his father had taken her away when Chris needed her most.

"I don't want to talk to you," Chris snapped, his gangly frame tense. Wrenching out of Travis's grasp, he shoved Nick's chair. "This is all your fault! If we hadn't had to get you, if we could've just gotten Mom -" His voice broke, dark eyes filled with pain. Chris grit his teeth, grappling with his emotions. He wanted to save everyone that could be saved, but he would have left Nick to save his mother.

Nick watched from his peripheral vision, snorting. He was unimpressed.

"That's enough," Travis got his arms around Chris, pulling him toward the doorway. Madison had placed herself between he and Nick, arm stretched out to protect her son.

"You just walked out and left everyone," Chris shouted, struggling, "you were willing to just let them all die!" A large bruise marred his cheek, and Alicia had to look away. He had gotten it trying to protect her from the soldiers, punched to the ground by men twice his size. Chris's words struck a cord, reminding her of the conversation they had had in the underground lot. She was a realist, knowing not everyone could be saved or would survive. Chris was not, he was a dreamer. He was furious that she believed death was the only option for most people.

"It's the end, man," Nick sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. It was always running, since he always snorted his pills so they would hit his bloodstream faster. "You can't save everyone and it'd be stupid to try."

Chris glared, his throat bobbing from strain. Travis pulled him into the hallway and toward the bedrooms. A father-son talk was imminent, though whether Chris would listen or not was up for debate.

"Good one, Nick. What's next? Are you gonna tell him his mother couldn't be saved? That the only way was to shoot her in the head?" Alicia sneered, an edge to her voice. Matt, the thought ran through the back of her mind, could Matt have been saved? Shaking the thought away, she focused on her brother's lack of tact. Liza had died the day before, the hole left behind by her absence still very fresh and very real to Chris.

Nick met her eyes, "Listen, kid's gotta learn. If he doesn't, he won't last five seconds. We won't always be there to protect him."

Alicia knew what he said was true, but she did not care. She wanted to argue, to get some of the energy out of her system. To fight someone other than herself. "And you've done so well for yourself? What if you choke on your own vomit again, huh? Who's gonna be there to save _you?"_

"That's diff-"

"Stop it!" Madison's hands came down on the table between Nick and Alicia, startling them both, "This isn't the time. Chris just lost his mother. We're all each other has, and if we want to survive..." she swallowed, unable to finish. That was what life had become, a game of survival. They were no longer living, just doing their best to survive from hour-to-hour.

"Whatever," Nick held his hands up in surrender, knowing better than to anger the source of his drugs, "can I have more pills? The headache's getting worse again."

"That's all he cares about, Mom," Alicia stood, kicking her chair away, "the pills. His next high. He doesn't give a damn about anyone but himself." As she stormed through the door, she heard the rattle of the pill bottle.

xxxxx

Alicia helped make Ofelia comfortable on the sofa, propping her up with pillows. Daniel stood nearby, watching with narrowed, hawk-like eyes. The death of his wife had hit him hard, much harder than any of them knew. He hovered near Ofelia, always on-edge and ready to tend to her. He would not lose his daughter, the only piece of Griselda he had left.

"Feeling better?" Alicia smiled, sitting on the edge of the coffee-table. She had heard Ofelia cough during the night, but little else. The woman was pale, but seemed to be in good spirits all things considered.

Nodding weakly, Ofelia fingered the rim of her water glass. She took a sip, clearing her throat, "Yes, much better. Thank you. I appreciate your mother's help as well as Liza's." A frown tugged at her lips as she realized her mistake. Liza was no longer with them, and they were all trying to not mention it for Chris and Travis's sake.

"It's okay," Alicia murmured in understanding, "I know what you mean."

"We must get supplies today," Daniel's voice broke through their whispers, "Madison has agreed to watch over Ofelia while we are away. Your mother is a kind woman." He respected Madison more than he would ever respect Travis's pacifist ways. Madison was strong, willing to do what was necessary to protect her own and survive.

Alicia's brow furrowed, confusion in her eyes. If her mother was staying, did that mean she was going? The little hairs on the back of her neck rose at the thought of being outside with those things, of being exposed. The thought that terrified her the most was that she would see someone she knew. Susan Tran flashed past her mind's eye, following by Matt. "What about me?"

Daniel no longer looked at Alicia, but at Ofelia. He was remembering, steeling himself as he always had to do the most painful things to ensure his family's survival. "All that are able must help. If we do not work together, then we all suffer. As a group, we need to find what we can before we move on. Canned foods, batteries, medical supplies...all are necessary. We must be prepared." He rested his hand on the pistol at his hip. Understanding Alicia's underlying worry, Daniel added, "I asked your mother to stay. She is older, slower – you are not. You are still young. Do you understand?"

Alicia clenched her fists, but nodded. She knew he was right and there was no room to argue, but anger surged through her that the decision had been made without her consent. There was no time to mentally prepare, to psyche herself up to venture into a zone that was most certainly _not_ safe. "When do we leave?"

xxxxx

The group assembled in front of the house after making sure Madison had secured the door at their back. She was under strict orders not to open it for anyone unless she heard the safe word, and a pistol had been left if that did not work. Daniel checked each gun they had, issuing ammo for each. It had to be rationed as much as food and medical, perhaps even more. It was a dangerous world before the apocalypse, and now it was even worse.

"Those three," Daniel pointed at Alicia, Nick, and Chris, "will cover the area east of the house. You and I will take the west." Handing a rifle to Travis, he gave him a look that said it was not debatable. "We meet back here in three hours." He made sure each of them nodded, understanding. Miscommunication would not be afforded or tolerated, he had learned that during his time in the military.

Daniel moved to hand Chris the other rifle, but Travis's hand stayed him. At his pleading look, Daniel instead gave Nick the gun. He knew Chris knew something about guns, he had shown him in the Safe Zone – the boy was a fast learner. Nick was different, cocky and uncaring. Daniel did not know what Nick knew of guns, or if he knew anything at all. It made him nervous.

"Don't be heroes," Travis said, his voice shaky and no longer full of the authority it had held only days before. Liza's death had hit him hard, no matter how he tried to hide it. He was not a killer. He was a lover of peace, and he had gone against everything he believed when he had shot his ex-wife. "Don't use that," he pointed at the rifle Nick held, "if you don't need to. If things get rough, run. Just run back here, get in the house. Hungry bellies are better than dead ones."

"I don't know, the hungry ones seem to get up and walk around again," Nick said, grunting when Alicia elbowed him in the ribs, "What?"

Travis swallowed, reining in his temper, "Nick, don't. Just don't."

Alicia gave Nick a shove before he could respond, not wanting him to exacerbate the situation. She wanted to do the supply run and get back. Being out after dark was not part of the plan, though she would have felt better had they given her a gun. Trusted her with one. They trusted Nick, who was in obvious withdrawal and did not care who lived or died so long as he had his pills. Daniel would have given Chris a gun before her, even though he was younger and not in the best state of mind. She was defenseless, but at least she had free hands to carry supplies.

"Why can't we take the car?" Chris asked, anxiously bouncing on the balls of his feet. He kept looking at the truck, wanting the safety of a vehicle. The control it gave to be behind the wheel.

"The noise will draw attention," Daniel answered, loading his gun, "best to be quiet. To observe on foot. It may give you the upper hand."

Chris accepted that. He respected Daniel, even trusted him. Daniel had never lied to him or pacified him, he had always told him the truth – no matter how grisly. Turning, he followed Alicia and Nick, jogging to catch up.

xxxxx

The three stayed close together as they walked, stepping on heels and bumping shoulders. Staying in the shadows of buildings when they could, each looking a different way to remain watchful. Whether they would admit it, they were all creeped out. It was like a haunted house, always waiting for the jump-scare. Small groups of walkers were easily avoided, detected by the drag of their feet and the heavy, raspy breathing they made. If that was not obvious enough, their stench was putrid. Flies buzzed heavily in the air, and Alicia repeatedly swatted them away.

A car smoldered, sending dark gray smoke into the sky. A charred hand jutted from the mangled driver's side door, fingers curling. There were bodies on every street, bullet-holes in their foreheads. The work of the soldiers. Alicia covered her mouth and nose, gagging at the heavy scent of rotting flesh. It was everywhere. The sun was baking the corpses, the flies laying larvae that would become maggots.

A corner-store caught their eye, the front windows shattered. Glass littered the ground, crunching under their shoes as they approached. A walker lay partially out of the large window, impaled on glass. It was almost completely decapitated, black blood oozing from its open stomach. The bloody clothes and name-tag it wore meant it had once been at worker at the store. At the noise of their shoes, it turned its gaze on them with a loud growl. It reached for them, the movement of its arms embedding glass in its rotting skin.

"Oh, sick," Nick muttered, stopping. He aimed the gun at its head, looking down the barrel at it.

Chris grabbed Nick's arm, "They told us not to use it if we didn't have to."

"And what? You do everything daddy says?"

Chris's grip tightened, forcing Nick to jerk his arm free. Their gaze never broke, anger clear in their expressions. There was no love between them. There never had been. Ever since Travis had moved in, it had been a war of testosterone in the Clark house.

"Hey," Alicia got their attention, snapping her fingers, "knock it off. Fight when we get back if you have to, but I don't want to get attacked by one of those things because you two can't keep your balls in for two seconds."

Chris flushed and stepped back. He folded his arms, spreading his legs into a stance that made him appear bigger. "So, what do we do? Do we kill it or leave it?" Looking at Alicia for an answer, he ignored Nick.

"If we use the gun, it would be too noisy," Alicia said with a shake of her head. Nick shoved by her, knocking her off balance. "Hey!"

"Does this make noise?" Nick gestured to the butt of the rifle, turning the gun and adjusting his grip. He brought it down hard, a disgusting crunch sounding. The creature gurgled, gnashing its teeth. He slammed the butt into its head several more times, straightening his back with satisfaction when its head was flattened and chunks of bone and blood littered the pavement. "See," he brushed sweaty hair from his eyes, "minimal noise."

"What did – why did – what the hell's wrong with you?!" Alicia could not look at the body. At the thing that had once been a person. Was a person. "What if they can be fixed? They're still human, Nick!" She felt the familiar burn of tears in her throat. Her brother had carelessly killed someone that had once had a life, a family, friends. If could just have easily been Matt, and the thought made her blood run cold.

"No, they're not!" Nick's voice was low, his eyes distant. He remembered Gloria. He had lost Gloria to it before anyone had believed him that something was going on. "Not anymore."

Chris was sick, holding his stomach as he wobbled to the mouth of a nearby alley to throw up. It had been too much on him, the events of the last few days. "Y-you," he rasped, bent double, "you sick fu-fuck!"

Nick stepped through the broken window, surveying the aisles. "Let's just grab what we came for and get out of here." He slipped the backpack off his shoulders, unzipping it and leaving it on the checkout counter to fill as he found things. Bending, he picked up a Tylenol bottle. "Come to papa," he shoved it into his back pocket, disappearing deeper into the store. The sound of rolling cans on the floor followed.

Alicia closed her eyes, trying to steady her ragged breathing. She did not want to follow Nick. He was like a toddler with a gun, probably in the back of the store crushing Tylenol to snort. Rather than go inside, she moved to the curb to check street-names and get her bearings. She recognized it as one she and Matt had driven down often when he would borrow his parent's car for their dates. Down the street and to the left was a shaved ice stand that was open year-round. It served fresh fruit smoothies too, blending them up in front of customers. She and Matt would always stop and get one before going to the beach.

The street was close to Matt's. She was close to it. To his home. To him. So close that she could just – check – and know for sure. To know if Matt was truly gone, if he had become one of those things. "I'm gonna check further down the block, okay?" She called back.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Stay in sight and all that shit," Nick called from the store, his tone uncaring. Chris gave her a concerned look: one she could not quite decipher. It was a mix of actual worry and of not wanting to be left alone with Nick.

Alicia did not wait around to find out. She started up the street at a brisk walk, then broke into a run.

xxxxx

It was farther than she remembered. The sun had gone lower, and she kept checking her phone for the time. Her calf muscles burned from the constant push to run. Keep running. She was kept on her toes, running into several bands of walkers and having to veer down a side-street or change course entirely. Sprinting up Matt's street, she slowed her step to take in the damage. Cars had been burned, shoved carelessly aside by the passing military – one had punched through the guardrail. Bodies lay in the street like discarded trash, and she checked each one. Recognizing some as neighbors she had seen, always friendly or at the very least civil.

His parent's car was parked crooked in the driveway, the trunk still open – one suitcase on the curb and the rest still inside. They had not gotten to unpack. His mother had not even gotten inside. Alicia gasped, eyes wet as she looked down at the woman who had been nothing but kind to her. Matt's mother gazed skyward, mouth twisted in a horrified scream. A chunk of her neck and shoulder was missing, and a gunshot wound was between her eyes. She had never quite approved of Alicia and Matt, but she had accepted them as they were. She had always made sure Alicia was fed and taken care of when she was a guest in their home.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, kneeling. She tentatively touched the woman's hand, only to recoil. It was cold despite the heat of the day. She stood, wearily approaching the front door. It was wide open, a bloody hand-print smeared across the surface. The white carpet in the foyer was stained a dirty crimson, and she held her breath at the strong scent of decay. Alicia kept her footsteps light, not wanting to draw attention to herself until she knew what had happened.

Just inside the living room lay Matt's father. His head had been split open, the mushy remains of his brain laying several feet away. In his clenched hand was a candle-holder. Alicia was going to be sick, she could feel bile rising in her throat – but she needed to see Matt. What was left of him. Needed to know for sure if he was really gone. She started up the stairs to check his room, pausing at a scratching sound coming from outside. It was like a scene out of a low-budget Syfy movie, only this had become her life. She crept out the front door, moving past the garage to peer around the corner at the path that led to the backyard. A hulking shape lumbered toward her in the shadows, shoulder brushing the siding with each step.

"Matt?" Alicia called, voice barely above a whisper. She was breaking every mentally-set rule she had ever made should her life end up like a horror film. Rule 1) Do not speak to the obvious monster coming toward you. This was not a monster though. It was Matt. It could be Matt. She took a tentative step back, afraid.

Matt stepped into the light, his eyes milky and mouth stained by black blood. A chunk of his cheek was missing, revealing teeth and gums. Alicia knew why his father had the candle-holder. A weapon. He had struck his own son, or was this even his son anymore? Was it even still Matt? He growled loudly, arms extending toward her as he approached.

The tears Alicia had been fighting bubbled forth, running down her cheeks silently. She had known, she had always known. But it was one thing to know, and another to see it with her own eyes. To see Matt like those monsters. To know Matt _was_ a monster. "Matt, please. It's me. Alicia, it's me. You know me. Please," she begged. She did not know why she was pleading. For recognition? He could not understand. He would kill her just like he had killed his parents: mindlessly.

Taking another step back, the loose heel of her Converse caught on the driveway's edge and she tumbled backwards. He had told her to fix it or get a new pair weeks ago because he had not wanted her to fall, but she had put him off. Now, it would be the reason she died by his hand. This was a mistake. Alicia scrambled on her hands and butt, pushing desperately with her legs to put distance between them. Her back hit the warm metal of the car and she exhaled sharply.

She should not have come. She was going to die.

The sharp crack of a gunshot momentarily deafened Alicia, forcing her to cover her ears. Her eardrums throbbed, but what held her attention was the sudden explosion of Matt's head. His skull shattered into hundreds of little pieces, blood and bone spraying across the garage door behind him. His body hit the ground with a thud. Alicia was frozen, watching in horror. Blood dripped down her face. His blood. Who had shot? Where had it come from?

A blonde stood in the street, hair glowing like a halo in the sun. Putting a fresh shell into her shotgun, she snapped it closed and propped it against her shoulder.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in an apocalypse like this?"

 

 

 


	2. You Were My White Picket-Fence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alicia is struggling to pick up the fragments left behind by newly dead-for-a-second-time Matt. It's complicated by shotgun-toting, tactless-flirting Elyza Lex.

_"Sometimes before it gets better,_

_The darkness gets bigger._

_The person you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger,_

_Oh, we're fading fast._

_I miss missing you now and then.”_

Miss Missing You; Fall Out Boy

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

Alicia's brain crashed, rebooting, struggling to process what had just happened. The gunshot reverberated through her skull, making her ears ring. Crunching bone. The squelch of blood and cerebral tissue. The image of Matt's skull splintering apart was burned into the back of her eyelids, and each time she blinked it refreshed. Matt was dead. She was still alive. Matt was dead. There was a blonde with a shotgun. Matt was dead. The sun was dangerously low in the sky. _Her_ Matt was dead.

She sucked a sharp breath through her teeth, hesitantly touching the blood on her face. Pulling her hand back, she found her fingertips stained black. Blood was red – crimson – not black. Not cold and reeking of decay. It was not supposed to be cold. Blood was meant to be warm, pumping through Matt's veins beneath Alicia's ear when she listened to his heartbeat. It was wrong. Everything was wrong.

Shoving to her feet, Alicia rounded on the stranger with a furious cry, "What the fuck did you do?!" Her voice was a shriek, thick with tears. That question had been thrown around a lot since the apocalypse started, Alicia realized bitterly. She trembled with unconcealed rage, clenching her fists tightly – knuckles whitening and blunt nails digging into her palms. She struggled to rein in her emotions, keeping all but her anger in check. There would be time to grieve later, when she was somewhere safe. Not in front of an armed stranger.

Surprise registered in the blonde's wide eyes when Alicia faced her. "I found you," she choked out, voice cracking with emotion.

" _What?_ "

The vulnerable look, the words, the tenderness – all disappeared as quickly as they had come. The woman grinned broadly, laughing it off, "I saved you, sweetheart! You're welcome, by the way," her accent was distinctly Australian, "Name's Lex. Elyza Lex." Extending her left hand, she winked and waggled her eyebrows. The action accentuated the blue warpaint smeared around her eyes and across her cheekbones.

Alicia looked between the blonde's – Elyza's – hand and face in disbelief. She wanted to shake hands like it was a social affair? Like she had _not_ just blown the top of someone's head off? As if the world were not crumbling into a cannibalistic orgy around them? "Saved me? SAVED ME?! Who the fuck do you think you are?! You can't just shoot people! What if – there could be – why did – I had everything under control!" She shouted indignantly. Her mind raced. What if the walkers could be cured? Matt would never get that chance now. Alicia would never get to see his eyes light up again, or how he poured every ounce of passion he possessed into his art. Subconsciously, she gripped her left forearm – squeezing the sore homemade tattoo.

"Not from where I was standing," Elyza countered, dropping her hand to her side. She seemed unperturbed that her handshake had been turned down, though a small furrow had appeared between her brows. Grin never waning, she scuffed the toe of her boot against the pavement. "Back to the original question, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a nasty place like this? Don't you know there are beasties about?"

"I can take care of myself," Alicia seethed, lacing her words with venom. She gave Elyza the finger when the blonde came back with an " _Ooh, feisty._ "

"What?" Elyza's eyebrows rose comically, "Want me to sit on it?"

Alicia groaned, wondering if Elyza had a comeback for everything. There was no time to dwell on it, nor energy – her focus was Matt. Her stomach did a nauseous flip as she took in the still body of boyfriend, his wide, blank eye chilled her to the bone. Alicia knew better than to turn her back on a stranger, especially a well-armed one (street smarts and a childhood in LA had taught her that much), but her caring was at an all time low. It had been since she had been forced to leave Matt behind, sick and burning up within his own skin.

She refused to leave him again. Not without giving him a proper burial. He deserved so much more, but that was all she could give. He was gone, and she would dig his grave. It was better than being left in the open, fed on by vultures and rotting in the sun.

Elyza followed Alicia's gaze. The body on the ground meant something to Alicia, and is puzzled her. "Friend of yours?"

" _Boy_ friend," Alicia corrected in a hiss, glaring heatedly at Elyza, "What's it to you, anyway? Go save someone else!" A part of her knew she was being harsh, that the blonde had probably legitimately though she was helping. Another larger part of Alicia wanted to claw that cocky grin off Elyza's face.

"Ouch," Elyza winced sympathetically, "I'm sorry for your loss." She slung the shotgun strap around her neck and shoulder, securing it. Animosity was rolling off Alicia in waves, coupled with uncertainty. The death had hit her hard, but there was something deeper – like a hope had been crushed. "Hey," Elyza snapped her fingers to get Alicia's attention, "he wasn't your boyfriend anymore, Princess. He was a brain-eater like all the rest, and he wouldn't have hesitated to eat you. And lemme tell you, that's not the way you eat pretty girls." She punctuated the comment with another wink.

Pain spread through Elyza's cheek like fire, and it registered belatedly in her mind that she had been slapped. _Hard_. Alicia's hand had connected with her face – all force and nails – echoing down the empty street.

"I deserved that," Elyza touched her stinging jaw, flexing it for a moment. The joint popped. She was impressed, Alicia was stronger than she looked. "Wait a second," her eyes snapped to Alicia's back when the brunette turned away, "where are you going?"

"To find a shovel," Alicia answered, annoyed. Carefully sidestepping Matt and the carnage around him, she flipped the garage keypad open. She had partially punched the number in when she remembered the grid was down, cursing and beating her fist against the unlit keys. The only other way into the garage, and to tools housed within, was through the connecting door in the kitchen. Crossing around the front of the car, she took the steps two-by-two to the front-door.

"For what?" Elyza echoed, distracted. She stared at Alicia's ass, admiring the way the short shorts hugged her hips. Her gaze drifted upward, toward the subtle swell of Alicia's breas- then it hit her. "Oh. OH." Alicia was going to bury the walker. Her boyfriend. Someone who had obviously meant a great deal to her. Sighing, Elyza ran her fingers through her hair. "Still stubborn," she whispered fondly, under her breath. Confusion followed, clouding her mind. Where had that came from? _Still_ stubborn? She did not know Alicia, or whether the girl had always been stubborn or not. Shaking it off, she attributed it to the overall situation.

Loud rattles came from behind the garage-door, and she started forward to follow Alicia. "Hang on," she called, "I'll help!"

xxxxxxx

The pair worked in silence. Rather, Alicia worked and refused to give Elyza the shovel no matter how many times the blonde asked. She had only stopped when Alicia offered to dig her a grave too. Alicia had chosen a spot in one of the backyard's flowerbeds, close to the spot where she and Matt had liked to stargaze. Pretended to stargaze. LA's light pollution had never been conducive to seeing more than one or two stars at the most, but it was nice to lay side-by-side in the grass talking about hopes and dreams.

Jacket and plaid shirt discarded, Alicia jammed the shovel into the dirt and stamped her foot on it. Fueled by hurt, she grit her teeth and ignored the ache in her limbs. When it waned, she reminded herself of all Matt had endured. A sheen of sweat coated her skin, and she wiped it away from her eyes – smearing remnants of Matt's blood. She had forgotten it was there. Forgotten how Matt had towered over her seconds before his death. Was that his death? Or had he died and come back? His spirit gone, his body driven by something foreign.

Elyza volunteered to get Matt, retreating around the house before Alicia could say otherwise. It was bad enough the brunette had dug the grave by herself. Eyeing Matt, Elyza decided that pulling the body by the ankles rather than the shoulders was the best option. There was less potential for mess that way. She gripped hard, digging her heels in as she pulled. His body did not budge, heavier than it looked. "It's dead weight, 'Lyza, of course it's heavy," she muttered to herself. With a grunt, she heaved her full weight backward and found traction – Matt's headed popped free of the asphalt with a wet sound. She hoped Alicia had not heard. That she did not realize her boyfriend's head had been plastered to the pavement by his own bodily fluids. It leaked from his open skull, leaving a charcoal trail. Once on the grass, it became less noticeable and the grating of bone ceased.

"Can you try to be gentle?" Alicia snapped, her pupils so blown from frustration and exertion that only the barest hint of green was visible. She leaned her weight on the shovel, averting her gaze. She would not – could not – see Matt like that. Being dragged carelessly by a stranger, pulled to a shallow grave in his backyard. It was undignified. She did not know why she had agreed to let Elyza stay, let alone help. Had she agreed? No, but Elyza had refused to leave. Maybe the blonde had a guilty conscious, was afraid of being alone, or had a savior complex – regardless, Alicia still wanted to hit her with the shovel.

"I am the picture of gentleness," Elyza said, dropping Matt's feet once he was parallel with the grave. Bracing her foot on his hip, she rolled him in with a thump. At Alicia's angry glare, Elyza threw her hands up, "What? I can't lower him! Do I look like a crane?"

"Why are you even here?" Alicia scowled, beginning to shovel loose dirt into the grave. She tried to cling to that train of thought, of being angry at Elyza. Anything to not think about Matt, about how she was burying him. Desperately, she pushed the thoughts away of how claustrophobic he was. Had been. They had once watched an episode of _Criminal Minds_ where the killer buried his victims alive, Matt had later confided that the episode had freaked him out. Alicia was now burying a husk of the man he had been, wishing him a final goodbye in the worst possible way.

"So you don't get yourself killed. Who knows? Maybe all the noise attracted more brain-eaters," Elyza crossed her arms, watching the grave steadily fill with dirt, "Besides, no one should bury someone they love alone." Several long moments passed, until only small wrinkles of Matt's shirt and pants were visible. "You still haven't told me your name, cutie."

Alicia remained silent. She let repetition take over, like she did in classes where she knew more than the teachers. The muscles in her arms burned, straining with each heft of the shovel. She ignored it. This was not about her, it was for Matt. He would have done the same for her. He would have been better for her, she thought sadly, he would not have left her alone. Even if his parents had begged him to, he would have stood firmly beside her.

"Yoo-hoo," Elyza's voice broke Alicia's concentration, her arms waving in the brunette's peripheral, "Ground to Space Girl!"

"...Alicia." Another load of dirt landed, small rocks and clods scattering in a plume of dust.

"Alicia," Elyza repeated, tasting the word. She toyed with it, rolling her tongue over the syllables. Mouthing it several more times to herself, she found she liked it. "Okay, Alicia – do you have a last name?"

Alicia met her gaze, holding it with a suspicious squint. "What are you? Some kind of post-apocalyptic stalker? If the next thing you ask for is my social, I'm hitting you with this shovel."

Elyza laughed, amusement dancing in her blue eyes, "Is it a crime to want to know someone's name now? Are _you_ some kind of post-apocalyptic police?" She mocked.

Days before, when they were still in the Safe Zone, Alicia had teased Chris about something similar. About being the law, only to have him question the legitimacy of her (stolen) bike. Chris. She hoped he was okay. She had left him with Nick, and the two never got along for more than five minutes. It was selfish, she knew – leaving them without a word. They were probably worried, and even if they were not she knew the adults would be. She straightened, finding Elyza still anxiously awaiting an answer.

"Clark," she said quietly, "My last name is Clark."

A grin tugged at the corners of Elyza's lips. " _That's familiar,_ " she thought.

xxxxxx

The grave filled, Alicia dropped the shovel. Her hands bore fresh callouses and blisters, aching and stiff. She wrapped her arms around herself in a hug as several tears silently escaped her eyes, sliding over her cheeks to drip off her chin. She held her breath to keep the emotions at bay, just as she had when Chris had screamed over his mother's body. Alicia was good at keeping herself in check, but this time was different. This time it was harder to be strong, almost impossible. She had never had to dig a grave before, not even for a pet.

Funerals were different, like a separate reality. The service brought closure, and graveside services gave the family time for final goodbyes. Alicia had disconnected at her father's funeral, running on autopilot the entire time. She had only cried twice: once when she heard the news, and the night after he was laid to rest. Looking back, she was not sure if she had been strong for her mother and Nick, or if she had tried to avoid the pain. With Matt, she could not avoid the pain or focus on someone other than herself. She was the only one left to mourn him.

Elyza got a landscaping stone from another part of the yard, placing it at the head of Matt's grave as a marker. Stepping back, she gave Alicia a moment. She was unsure what to say. Apologizing could come across as insincere, since she had been the one to shoot him and had already apologized once. Cracking a joke would be in poor taste. Even if it was not, Alicia would slap her again – the girl had a mean right hook! Elyza's cheek still stung. Silence was the best option, so the blonde rolled with it. She knew from personal experience that mourning was not a thing that could be rushed, but there was no time. Nightfall was uncomfortably close. "Listen, Princess – I'd love to let you stand here and mourn, but," she pointed toward the waning sun, where hues of dark pink, purple, and orange reflected on the clouds, "the sun's about to set."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Alicia sniffled, wiping her eyes as she bent to get her jacket and shirt.

Elyza huffed, sticking her tongue out childishly, "I don't know about you, but I prefer remaining in one piece. Y'know, all the right parts in all the right places," she made a sweeping gesture of her body, before looking Alicia over appreciatively, "Hell, even if you _don't_ care, I want your parts to stay where they are."

"Are you high, like, right now? If you think I'm going anywhere with you, you're crazy."

Elyza sighed. Alicia was being difficult, not that the blonde blamed her. They were strangers and the world had gone to hell, but being alone was a death sentence. "Darkness equals low visibility, and low visibility equals getting yourself disemboweled. Now, I'm going to get my bike and take shelter inside your boy-toy's house. Gonna barricade the shit out of it. So, as I see it, you have two choices: you come willingly, or I carry you kicking and screaming inside."

Who did Elyza think she was? Alicia felt like she had entered an alternate reality, created by some sadistic god. Perhaps it was the longest nightmare she had ever had, one she kept hoping she would wake from despite knowing how futile that wish was. Was she crazy? Crazy seemed like a good answer to all the insanity around her. She had lost her mind, maybe trapped in her subconscious while her body lay wasting away in the hospital after some terrible accident. Was there a valid argument that this was reality and she was in denial? Yes. Would she ignore that validity? Yes.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Alicia repeated, "I don't know you. And – and have some respect! He wasn't my boy-toy, he was – he was..." the words died in her throat, fresh tears welling in her eyes and threatening to spill over. Her vision blurred, and she let out a clipped sob against her will. She loved Matt. Had loved Matt. He had been her rock, the only steady thing she could rely on around Nick's addiction and her mother's revolving-door boyfriends. Though she had never told him, she had pictured the rest of her life with him.

Guilt washed over Elyza, but she did not let it show. She projected the confident, goofy part of herself she wanted people to see. "Fair enough, but it doesn't change the fact that it's dangerous to be alone out here. Just stay for tonight, then tomorrow you can go. It's safer in the light."

Alicia was not sure that was true. In the light you could see the danger coming, but it also illuminated the damage done. The wreckage left behind. Taking a steadying breath, she nodded. "One night." With a final glance at the grave, she led the way to the house's backdoor.

xxxxxx

Elyza's motorcycle was parked in the small foyer, candlelight reflecting off the shiny black exterior. Matt's father had been moved to the porch, and the pieces of him that did not detach from the carpet were covered. Fortifying the house had taken longer than initially thought. Elyza had torn the garage apart looking for a drill and screws, praying the battery was still charged. Alicia located candles, placing a couple in each of the major rooms: kitchen, downstairs bathroom, and living room. She placed the flashlights she had found on the coffee-table, along with batteries she had discovered in a kitchen drawer.

Elyza emerged from the garage victorious, waving the drill as she came down the hallway. "How heavy is the table in the dining room?"

Alicia gave her an incredulous look, "How should I know? I've never lifted it." She had had meals at it and even done homework, but she had never helped move it. She knew it was old, passed down through Matt's grandmother.

"We're gonna find out," Elyza tapped the drill's trigger, a satisfying _whir_ sounding.

The table was heavy. They struggled to carry it, and maneuvering it through doorways took a lot of cursing, begging, and, at one point, Elyza breaking the legs off. Pressing the table against the front door, Alicia planted her hands firmly on the upper-half in an effort to keep the table upright while Elyza screwed it into place. "Can you hurry it up?"

"Why? You sore?" Elyza asked, long screws bobbing on her lips that she held with her teeth, "Shouldn't have dug that hole by yourself, huh?" She knelt to get the lower corners, doing multiple screws per side to ensure the table stayed.

"You're an ass."

" _You_ have a fine ass."

Alicia blindly kicked to the side, but did not connect. At the backdoor, Elyza dismantled a few of the dining room chairs to drill around the edges. The door into the garage was less of an issue, but Elyza braced a chair against it regardless. The windows were the biggest issue, and the rest of the chairs – as well as wood paneling from the living room – was sacrificed for their protection.

"Why are we doing this?" Alicia asked, watching Elyza ruin the walls with her serrated knife. "Those things can't open doors. They're not that smart."

"They're not," Elyza agreed, "but other survivors are."

The conversation dropped, and they finished the job in silence.

"Was that all the windows for this floor?" Elyza placed the drill on the coffee-table. The living room was gutted, the walls stripped bare in multiple places to reveal the piping and wires beneath.

Alicia nodded, distant. Her mind was on other things, if she thought at all. She was exhausted: mentally, emotionally, and physically. Overwhelmed, she just wanted to not exist for a while. To go to sleep and wake to find it had all been a bad dream. She could not remember the last time she had slept.

A growl made Alicia jump, and Elyza grinned sheepishly and gestured to her stomach. "Sorry, the monster demands food. I'm gonna check out the kitchen, okay? See what I can find." She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. The candlelight was dim, but it was enough for her to see the dark circles under Alicia's eyes and how glassy they were. The girl needed time.

Alicia did not acknowledge Elyza's departure, and was only vaguely aware that the blonde was no longer in the room. She padded into the foyer, turning her flashlight on as she climbed the stairs. Each step was heavy, like there was lead in her feet – the closer she got to the second floor the slower her steps became. At the top she took a familiar right, into Matt's bedroom. Laying the flashlight upright on the nightstand, the light hit the ceiling and bounced off to illuminate the room. She placed a candle beside the flashlight, lighting it with a match. She turned the light off, watching the flame of the candle flicker as her eyes adjusted to the softer lighting.

The candlelight cast an eerie glow on the art adorning the walls. It had all been done by Matt: graffiti, sketches, and realistic portraits of Alicia. She had similar pictures in her possession, in her own bedroom. They had been carefully folded and tucked away in her dufflebag, which was at the small house their group had taken refuge in. She hoped the others were still there. That they were all right. If they were not, she would not know where to look for them.

Alicia sank down onto the bed. Kicking her Converse off, she drew her legs up and to her chest to rest her folded arms atop them. She frowned, "Why'd you have to leave, you son-of-a-bitch?" He had been bitten, left to undergo a slow death alone. She knew the thing that had chased her outside was no longer Matt, but it was at the same time. It was his body. Someone was masquerading as him while wearing his skin.

The memory of Elyza shooting him replayed through Alicia's mind. The blonde had no remorse, had not even given it a second thought. She had gunned him down, using it as an opportunity to flirt.

The world had changed, Alicia thought, not just because of the walkers but because people had grown cold. A callousness had taken root, coaxing the worst from the populace. "Everyone has an inclination to evil, if given the opportunity," her father had once said, but she only now understood what he meant. The world had given the opportunity, and everyone was reacting accordingly. Nick was a junkie and had never been truly violent. Yet, he had not hesitated to bash someone's head in. Travis was not at the top of Alicia's list of good-guys, but he had always been a pacifist. Something in him had snapped when Ofelia was shot, and he would have killed the soldier had Madison not stopped him.

Would Alicia reach that point?

There was a crash downstairs, followed by the sound of rolling cans and a string of curses.

Who was Elyza Lex anyway? She was odd. Stubborn. Fierce. Familiar. Something about her was familiar, but Alicia could not place it. It was like she had known her in another life, but she did not believe in other lives. It was just her mind trying to make connections in a collapsing world. A torn piece of notebook paper on the floor caught her eye. It reminded her of Susan's note to Patrick. When she saw her name on it, her heart stopped. With shaking hands, she picked it up.

" _Alicia,_

_I don't know if you'll get this, or even if you're okay. Please be okay. I'm not okay. Even if you didn't want to believe it, I know you know. Your mom and Travis knew, that's why they took you. Don't take it out on them, they're trying to keep you safe. Like I was. I'm sick, like those things in the videos. The thing that bit me. I won't last much longer, but..."_

His handwriting grew sloppier with each sentence, strained. The ink was smudged tear-stains and smeared blood. Alicia struggled to make out the words. To understand what Matt had spent his final moments wanting to tell her.

_"I love you, Alicia. I would've followed you to Berkeley. Don't worry about me, I'm not afraid anymore. Take care of yourself. You're smart, I know you're smart. You'll do fine._

_Love,_

_Matt"_

The end of the letter was illegible scribbles that she guessed at. She reread it, clutching it to her chest. Matt loved her. In his final moments he had written her a letter to tell her that. To encourage her. She had been his thought, his wish, his hope – until the end.

"Alicia?" Elyza's voice came from downstairs.

Alicia wiped her eyes, tucking the note into her pocket next to her phone. "I'm here," she called back.

Quick footfalls came from below, ascending the stairs quickly. Elyza appeared in the doorway, holding an open can of pear halves and a fork. Her cheeks were stuffed, making her resemble a chipmunk. Scanning the room, she did a double-take at the artwork. "He was an artist?" She questioned, though it was muffled and she spit bits of pear with each word.

Alicia could not help it, she laughed. She did not even know why she was laughing, it was not that funny. At the same time, she did know why. She was an exhausted, emotional wreck sitting in her dead boyfriend's bedroom with a stranger armed to the teeth. A stranger who had just stuffed the equivalent of two pears into her mouth and was still trying to hold a conversation.

Elyza swallowed, brows arching up as she chuckled, "If you think my pear-eating is good, you should see how good I can eat out a girl."

Alicia shook her head, laughter tapering off. She rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore Elyza's comment. Looking at a picture on the wall, she wished she were back in it – cuddling with Matt in a hammock. "Who's taking watch tonight? I'm assuming we'll split."

"Oh, prepared, are we? I like it," Elyza winked, tipping the can back to drink the juice, "You've done this before, I take it?"

"My family do-" Alicia faltered, realizing she had not told Elyza about her family. She was not sure she should. What if Elyza was part of another group? What if Alicia led her right to her family, putting them in danger should Elyza (and her potential group) want to steal their supplies? It was the same family she had left behind to find Matt. Shit.

Elyza's head tilted as she waited for Alicia to finish.

"I'm part of a group, okay? I was on a supply run with the boys earlier when I split up to find Matt." Alicia fingered the cool sheets, hoping this would not come back to bite her. She did not trust Elyza by any means.

"How many?" Elyza asked, expression becoming serious.

Warning bells went off in Alicia's head, her paranoia spiking. "Why do you want to know?" She would take the answer to the grave if she had to, if Elyza pressed her for it. The blonde seemed too intent for it to be a passing question. Her entire demeanor had changed.

"Jesus Christ, I just want to know if we should be worried they'll be eaten," Elyza scoffed. "Whatever. They're probably worried." She wanted to press it, wanted to know why Alicia had not told anyone she wanted to get Matt. What had happened there? Who was the group? Family, friends, none of the above? Leaning her shoulder against the doorframe, she held the can out, "Pear?"

Alicia felt bad for jumping to conclusions, but would never let it show. "No, thanks," she waved the offer away. She had not eaten all day, but she did not want to. The thought of food made her feel sick, and being reminded of her family worrying did not help.

"We'll try and find them tomorrow," Elyza said, watching Alicia fidget, "I'll help you find them."

Alicia's attention snapped to the blonde, wondering why she was trying to be so helpful. It creeped her out. She bit her tongue to keep in criticisms, knowing there was most likely a limit to Elyza's patience (and her trigger-finger) when it came to snarky teenagers.

Elyza stuffed another pear-half into her mouth. "Anyway, I'll take watch tonight. I'm good at pulling all-nighters, it's how I slept through my first year at uni. You need the sleep, look at you, you look like a raccoon." She side-stepped a thrown pillow, snickering, "You've had a rough day, that's all I'm saying." She turned to leave, loudly slurping the last drops of juice, "I'll be downstairs if you need me, just yell."

Alicia swallowed, "...Thank you." It was so quiet Elyza almost did not hear.

Alicia waited until she knew Elyza was in the living room to get up, crossing to Matt's closet. When she opened the door, his scent hit her. A painful lump lodged in her throat as she selected a loose t-shirt he had often wore. It was a sports team he did not even watch, but he had liked the logo. Peeling her clothes off, she slid it over her head and crawled into his bed. She covered herself, hugging his pillow close as she finally let her emotions take over. The dam burst, and she sobbed into the fabric to muffle the noise.

It was the second night she had cried herself to sleep that she could remember, but it was the first night she dreamed of walking dead, Matt's snarls, and blue eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get this out Saturday, sorry for the delay. I hope everyone likes it! :)


	3. Show Me How Defenseless You Really Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alicia struggles to pull herself together and find her family. Elyza is helping, though Alicia questions her motives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took SO much longer to churn out than I intended. I'm sorry for the wait, and hope you enjoy reading the latest update. I hope to turn chapters out quicker, and apologize if they remain slow. Life is busy. Adulting is hard. Anyway, enjoy!

_"If you find your family, don't you cry._

_In this land of make believe, dead and dry._

_You're so cold,_

_But you feel alive."_

So Cold; Breaking Benjamin

Alicia woke up to the scent of _Playboy_ cologne. It clung to the pillowcases and sheets, taking root in her senses with a painful familiarity. Lingering in her nose, it danced on her tongue crisp and bitter, reminding her of the times she would kiss Matt's warm skin. The odor burned her eyes as if it had been freshly sprayed – Matt spraying it on after a shower – but maybe part of it were the tears threatening to spill. Maybe the burn was her heart clenching in loss, while her brain refused to acknowledge the pain. To let tears fall again. To let her feel weak and helpless.

The tears did not fall, but her heart found its victory. She remembered mornings in bed with Matt, and burrowed deeper into the covers in search of comfort and illusory warmth. With his scent enveloping her like a blanket, it was surprisingly easy to pretend he was beside her. Alive. Nights together while his parents were out-of-town on business, or afternoon naps on the weekend around homework (so long as they left the door open, house rules). Matt's arms would wrap tightly around her, his warm breath fanning across the nape of her neck while he hummed her to sleep. Alicia (had) loved his body heat, the way it warmed her to her core and was never too hot even on the warmest days of an LA summer. She adored the rumbling snores breathed through his chapped lips and the way their legs intertwined. The peace and certainty those moments had brought her was palpable, but now felt out of reach. Gone forever.

Serenity had disappeared the moment videos surfaced of police gunning down the diseased.

The world had been reduced to shambling corpses and the promise of a short life and painful death. Civilization had collapsed in a matter of days, faster than the fall of Rome or the Norman Conquest of the Saxons. History was repetitive, but only to an extent – zombies were stretching it. Alicia was fairly sure Roman gladiators had remained dead, and if they had not then Romans clearly thought they had more important things to write about, like emperors, war, and homosexuality. The abrupt change had left Alicia reeling as she desperately tried to keep up, to stay alive, to _understand_. She had pondered how the world would end before, usually after watching an apocalypse film or listening to a Bible-thumper on the street-corner ranting about how everyone would go to hell. Alicia pictured a man-made crisis such as nuclear war or the devastation of nature that would lead to mass extinction. Maybe one of the thousands of religions was right, or the sun would simply explode like so many stars before it and take the solar system with it in a blast of stardust. Never, in all her wild imaginings, had Alicia thought the world would end like this.

Alicia's sleepy thoughts ground to a halt, interrupted by the overpowering odor of cigarettes and rotting flesh wafting through the window. Her stomach lurched, empty and angry from the day before, and her esophagus tightened from the warning burn of bile. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Alicia threw the covers back and sat up – head swiveling as she frantically scanned the room for a trashcan. She spotted one just under the edge of Matt's desk (still littered with half-finished sketches and homework) and dove for it, knees colliding painfully with the carpeted floor. Alicia scrambled for the small plastic can, barely making it as her body began to heave and a cold sweat broke out on her skin.

She gripped the edges of the trashcan so tightly her knuckles were white, throat stinging as she retched and emptied the meager contents of her stomach. Complete bile, a reminder that she had not eaten the day before. Odd flecks and chunks became visible, and after squinting at them for a moment Alicia realized they were pencil shavings and bits of lead-blackened eraser left behind by Matt. Of course, this was his trash and his desk. His room. His life. Art had been his life...and Alicia had loved watching him work. The concentration and passion Matt fueled into his craft inspired her. Had made her smile when nothing else could.

Body trembling, Alicia gave a final dry-heave to dislodge anything left in her throat. She spit to clear her mouth, gagging from the acidic taste left on her tongue. Her throat was raw. Alicia's body steadied slowly, leaving her limbs weak and her mind fuzzy. Sinking back on the floor, she sagged against the corner of the bed – cradling the trashcan in case her stomach decided it wanted to sandpaper her throat again. She hated throwing up, it made her feel awful and reminded her of the friend she had lost when she tried to get them help for their bulimia.

Alicia snorted. It was funny what memories were associated with mundane things. She wished her biggest concerns were looking out for friends, doing homework, and getting college applications in, rather than surviving. Where were her friends? Were they alive? Were they-? Shaking the thoughts away, she brushed sweat-slick hair from her forehead. Her skin was clammy. It reminded her of Matt, sticky with sweat and laying in a pool of frothy vomit when she had found him. Alicia tried not to associate the sickness that took people with how crappy she felt. It was probably just stress or lack of food, not the disease. The assurances rang hollow in her head.

Taking deep breaths to calm her body, she allowed her eyes to wander around the room. Everything had changed, but the bedroom had not. The four walls contained the normalcy that had once been – held together by art and posters. Matt's jacket was draped over the back of his desk-chair. His phone lay on the nightstand, plugged into a now useless charger. Nothing had changed. It was frozen in time, and Alicia struggled to fathom how someone's life could be over while everything they had ever known and loved continued to exist.

The same question haunted her for years after her father's death. She had never found the answer. Never been satisfied or found peace with prayers and consolations of, "You'll see them again, someday."

She buried the man she loved the previous day. Alicia did not believe she would see him again, that he was waiting for her on some mystical "other side." He was dead. Gone. She was alive. With people depending on her. People she had deserted to chase a dream become nightmare. She was alone. Left to the cling to the fading tendrils of familiarity. Emotionally exhausted, Alicia was physically stuck with an idiot Australian with zero tact. Who smoked, apparently. Alicia just hoped Elyza did not fall asleep with a lit cigarette and burn the house down around them. That be would be her luck, to die in a house-fire during the zombie apocalypse.

Feet shuffled outside the door, startling Alicia. Her body went rigid, fear creasing her brow. Why had she not heard footsteps coming up the stairs? What if it was not Elyza? What if – The questions collided into an indistinguishable roar in her head as the door opened, revealing a concerned Elyza. Alicia released a breath she had not realized she was holding, visibly relaxing. She was safe. It was just Elyza.

"You okay, Princess? You sound sick," Elyza looked between the trashcan and Alicia, crinkling her nose, "Yup, definitely sick." She answered herself. Elyza had not changed from the night before, still all leather and wavy blonde hair and laughing blue eyes, though the cigarette dangling from her lips was new.

"No shit, Sherlock," Alicia rasped, voice hoarse from a combination of being freshly awake and puking her guts up, "What gave it away? Was it the rush to the trashcan, or the smell? I'm sure it couldn't have been the sound."

"Smartass," Elyza chuckled, eyes bright in the dim light of the sun filtering through the blinds, "I like you." She took a slow, relishing drag from her cigarette, the tip burning angry red. "There's not a chance you're pregnant, is there?" The question was posed casually, if bluntly, but Elyza's eyes never wavered from Alicia's face. It was the same serious expression she had worn when asking about the group. All business and need-to-know. "I mean, now wouldn't be the time for you and backyard-boyfriend to -" She made crude motions with her hands, repeatedly pushing one finger through a circle formed by her thumb and index finger.

If Alicia had felt better (not struggling to keep down bile or hugging a trashcan like it was her Lord and Savior) she would have hit Elyza. As it was, with what little strength her exhausted body possessed, Alicia opted to ponder how hard she would have to hit her head against the trashcan in order to die. "Is sex all you think about? Christ! No! Just – no! No, I'm not pregnant!"

"Sexy thoughts depend on who I'm with," Elyza blew an effortless smoke ring, quickly blowing a smaller one through the center of the first, "especially if it's a beautiful girl such as yourself. But yes, I suppose I do think mostly about sex. Dissection of my hyper-sexuality aside, it's good to know you're not knocked up."

Alicia agreed with the sentiment, grateful she did not have to worry about the safety of a child in the middle of the apocalypse. The thought of a child with Matt's warm brown eyes made an uncomfortable weight settle in her chest, though she had never thought of children before. Matt and she had never discussed that far into the future, and she felt a strange sense of gladness that they had not. It meant there were less "what if's" to plague her mind. Less scenarios she could entertain in the waning hours of morning when she could not sleep, could-have-been's that would do nothing but break her heart. It made missing Matt more bearable. A little. Maybe.

Shifting her legs against the carpet, Alicia flushed – remembering she only wore Matt's too-large shirt. It exposed more skin than she was comfortable showing around Elyza, both from the lack of familiarity and the Australian's penchant for sexually-charged comments. She tugged at the shirt's hem, but the fabric refused to give an inch. She failed to do anything but draw Elyza's attention and – was that a leer? - abruptly stood up. Putting the bed between them, Alicia's pride took a sharp tumble at the amusement on Elyza's face. She hoped the bed would obscure what the shirt did not cover.

"I'm going to get dressed."

Elyza's eyebrows rose, a crooked grin quirking one corner of her lips, "Fine." She flicked cigarette ashes into the discarded trashcan, before tossing the butt in behind them. There was a brief sizzle as the cigarette sank into vomit. She wore black finger-less gloves, affixed with bone-shaped metal over the knuckles. Alicia swore she had seen the goth kids wearing similar things, and bit her tongue to hold in a quip about Elyza getting them at _Hot Topic_.

"Which means get out."

"You're no fun," Elyza stuck out her tongue, revealing a silver stud. She turned on her heel and sauntered from the room, but not before tossing a cocky smirk back at Alicia, "Nice legs, by the way."

Heat spread across Alicia's skin like liquid fire, blossoming across her face and neck. She grunted in indignation, frustrated by Elyza's constant teasing, lack of common decency, and that damnable smirk. Snatching a pillow off the bed, Alicia chucked it at the door closing on Elyza's laughter. It bounced off, landing uselessly on the floor. The noise grew fainter as Elyza went downstairs. The Australian was infuriating. Only a few people had ever pissed Alicia off this quickly (Nick, namely), and they were generally family and her mom's revolving-door boyfriends. Elyza was a different creature altogether, one Alicia could not easily define and was not even sure she wanted to. Currently, she just wanted to know how she had gotten stuck with Elyza.

With a shake of her head Alicia shook the rambling thoughts away – they did not matter. Once she was reunited with her family (and its attachments), she and Elyza would part ways. If the group was still okay. Still where she left them. Alicia had left them without word, disappearing on a supply run while Nick got high and Chris dealt with the loss of his mother. She tried not to think of the worry and pain she had likely caused. Had they searched for her? Were they _still_ searching? What if her desperation to find Matt had led to one of them getting hurt – or worse? Dread settled in the pit of her stomach, cold and weighted, and Alicia tried to distract herself by getting ready for the day. 

Pulling the shirt from the day before over her head, Alicia's nose scrunched at the stale scent of sweat. Her denim shorts tickled the stiff little hairs on her legs as she slipped them on, and she sighed in resignation. Of course the apocalypse would not be as glamorous as Hollywood had portrayed, with consistently smooth skin or miraculously clean clothes. At least she had not developed an unpleasant body odor yet, but she did not smell clean – her clothes especially did not. She had never been a clean freak, but it bothered her. Using one of Matt's roll-on deodorants, she tossed it (and other deodorants and body sprays) onto the bed and made a mental note to locate all soaps and shampoos before leaving the house. 

Alicia carefully folded the shirt she had slept in, placing it on the bed beside the sprays. She went to the closet, knowing Matt owned at least one dufflebag – the health and fitness classes at school had required gym clothes and other necessities. In a corner, partially hidden under shoes and crumpled shirts, was the bag. She dumped its stiff, unwashed contents onto the floor, before placing the folded night-shirt inside and stuffing the deodorants into a side-pocket. Several more of Matt's shirts were packed, along with a few pairs of his boxers. Alicia wanted something to wear that still carried Matt's scent. Something to wrap herself in and pretend, if only for a moment, that it was his arms.

Lastly, she perused the art on the walls and in Matt's sketchbooks. She could not take everything, even though she desperately wanted to. Absently rubbing her tattoo, Alicia selected her favorite pieces. The ones where Matt had let his mind wander, drawing what had burst behind his eyelids from the instrumental music in his headphones. Small charcoal sketches of scenery, or bold marker graffiti. She tucked them into a binder from Matt's desk, folding it among the shirts in the dufflebag reverently.

A bag was all she had left of him, and the thought alone split her heart open anew. She felt as if her chest was a gaping wound, tearing her apart from the inside out.

Alicia cleared her throat, sucking in a sharp breath as she fought to keep the tears at bay. The dufflebag bumped against her thigh as she padded to the door, turning her head to give the room one last look as she gripped the doorknob. There were so many memories – so many what-if's and might-have-been's – wrapped up in that room. In Matt. Her eyes welled as she stepped out onto the landing and closed the door behind her.

"Goodbye, Matt."

XXXXX

Cigarette butts were in a neat pile at the top of the stairs, and Alicia scrutinized them. Had Elyza sat there all night? Was that why she had not heard her coming up the stairs earlier? Because she had already been close? The Australian wanted a good vantage point, Alicia decided, since there was a window that faced the street directly across from the landing. She descended slowly, sweeping her eyes from side-to-side to know what she was walking into. She had always been vigilant, but the world had changed. Hyper-aware was an understatement, she felt downright paranoid.

Little had changed, though Elyza's motorcycle was now turned toward the front-door rather than the house interior. The _Harley Davidson_ logo was emblazoned across the tank, standing out against the bike's shiny black exterior and chrome rims. It was built short , with dual exhaust pipes mounted along both sides. The bike was a formidable machine. Alicia's curiosity mounted, wanting to know where Elyza had gotten the motorcycle – though she had a sneaking suspicion it had not been legally. Before the world had gone to hell, Harley's had not been cheap.

"It's a Fat Boy Special," Came Elyza's voice, answering the unasked question. She tried (and failed) to contain her amusement when Alicia jumped, snickering, "Geez, calm your tits."

Alicia scowled at the phrase, pursing her lips. Reminding herself that it was probably a good idea _not_ to snap at the armed Australian. "How did you get it?"

"Stole it," Elyza said simply, as if it were something she did every day. As if stealing were not a crime. "I passed a nice store a few days ago that hadn't been completely vandalized. Found this bad boy in the back, still in its shipping crate. I couldn't resist, because with the price – well," she smirked, "it was a steal." With that said, she strode back into the kitchen while running fingers through her messy hair.

Alicia stared at Elyza's retreating back. She blinked once. Twice. Three times. She was in over her head. Second-guessing her decision to leave her family, she wondered if finding Matt for closure had been the best idea. Elyza Lex was likely a criminal. A delinquent seeking her fortune in LA like so many before her. Alicia knew the type, and knew she needed a trump card. She needed a way to protect herself should this "partnership" blow up in her face. Earning Elyza's respect was the course of action she settled on, because it would give her the best chance to avoid being mugged or used against her own family as a bargaining chip. If Elyza respected her, there would be just enough underlying fear of what Alicia was capable of to keep the Australian at bay. At least, Alicia hoped.

Setting the dufflebag next to the motorcycle, Alicia steeled her nerve. She cleared her throat and went into the kitchen. It was chaos, with cabinets thrown open and canned goods stacked on the counters. A backpack sagged against the kitchen island, stuffed with cans – bulging in all directions. In her surprise, Alicia almost forgot her mentally-rehearsed line to impress Elyza.

"So," She said casually, "I stole a bike once." A bicycle, she finished in her head, but Elyza did not need to know the details.

"Oh, yeah?" Elyza arched a brow, watching Alicia from the corner of her eye skeptically.

"Yeah," Alicia paused, unsure if the look on Elyza's face was one of disbelief. Her attention shifted to what the blonde was doing. Attempting to do. Completely failing at. "Do I even want to know?"

"I'm making coffee," Elyza bit her tongue, holding it between her lips in concentration. She dangled a coffee filter full of grounds over a broad-rimmed mug, in her other hand was a water bottle. Pouring small amounts into the filter, she watched it darken the grounds, sink in, then drip free into the cup before adding more. The bottle empty, she set it and the filter aside – proudly holding up the mug. "See?"

Alicia hummed in feigned interest, wondering if Elyza realized how many grounds had fallen in. She hoped the Australian liked her coffee gritty. Shuffling through the cans on the counter, she searched for something that would pass for breakfast – aside from Elyza's "coffee".

Elyza, proud of her efforts, took a sip. The pride abruptly vanished from her face as she spat, gagging loudly. "God, it's like piss," she muttered, roughly wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Slamming the mug down, she fished a scratched, dented flask from an inner-pocket of her jacket. Uncapping it, the Australian poured a good amount of amber liquid into the coffee - taking a long swig from the flask before she re-capped it. She lifted the mug to her lips, taking a tentative sip before nodding, "Passable. Drink?" She offered.

"No, thanks," Alicia rolled her eyes. Of _course_ Elyza drank. Why did that not surprise her? She opened a jar of peanut butter, sniffing it experimentally. Deciding it was okay, she got a spoon from one of the drawers and hoisted herself onto the sole part of the counter that was not covered in cans. "What did you put in it?"

"Whiskey. That's the great thing about the apocalypse: electricity or no most alcohol won't go bad."

Alicia ate a spoonful of peanut butter, rolling it to keep her tongue from sticking to the roof of her mouth. She was tempted to ask for a drink from the flask, wondering if alcohol would numb the hollow ache in her chest. She had drank before, finding appeal in how it dulled her emotions – escaping feelings had always been important in her life. Feelings about her father's death, her mother's whoring, Nick's addiction, and now Matt's zombification and death. After watching Elyza for a long moment, she decided the Australian did not need encouragement.

"Actually eating?" Elyza asked, meeting Alicia's gaze curiously. She swished the liquid in the cup, tipping it up to drink in one long gulp. Putting the cup in the sink (like everything was normal), she grabbed the backpack off the floor and stuffed a few more cans into it. "I took what had the farthest expatriation dates and worked my way back until I ran out of room," she explained, noticing Alicia's confused look at the remaining cans, "Once you're done eating, we'll get outta here."

XXXXX

Alicia hated the table, door, and being pinned under Elyza while the Australian worked to unscrew them. "Could you hurry it up?" Her words were laced with annoyance, as her body's full weight pressed into the table, keeping it flush against the door to make Elyza's work easier.

Elyza ignored her, ears perking at the groan and shuffle of a walker. "Hear that?"

"I can't hear anything through your arm," Alicia snipped, wedged against Elyza's side, "or the drill."

"Hold up, stop pushing," Elyza put the drill aside, swiveling her neck – searching for something. A golf caddy lay discarded on the floor, dropped by Matt's father upon their return from Las Vegas. Their return to their dead son. The Australian plucked a club from the bag, checking its weight and nodding to herself at how it fit in her hands.

"What are you –" It dawned on Alicia and she gaped, "Elyza, c'mon – you have a freaking machete. You have a _fucking_ gun! You're going to use that?!"

Elyza waved her off, unaffected. If anything, her grin broadened. She made sure Alicia was clear of the door, giving the table a sharp tug to undo the last few screws holding it in place. It fell with a crash, Elyza stepping over it to open the door. The sunlight was bright and harsh, and she shielded her eyes until they adjusted. Her returning vision was greeted with the sight of a walker stumbling through the yard. One of its legs was bent, dragging behind it as it pursued the noise. When it saw Elyza, it shrieked – revealing a mouth of maggots and blood.

"You're an ugly one," Elyza muttered, flipping her aviators down over her eyes. She took the stairs slowly, gauging the walker's movements as it determinedly dragged closer. Pressing her half-finished cigarette against the walker's forehead, it extinguished with a hiss and the nauseating stench of burnt flesh. "What's the word?" She asked, drawing the club back to swing, "Fore?" Bringing the club down forcefully, it connected with the zombie's knees with a disgusting crack – taking it to the ground. "Fore!" She repeated louder. The club's tip connecting with the walker's head, dislodging it and sending it rolling into the road.

Alicia covered her nose and mouth, eyes watering from the overpowering smell. Hearing Elyza mutter something, she asked, "What?"

"I said eight points!" Elyza pressed her foot on the walker's body, holding it steady as she wiped the bloody head of the club off on its shirt. "Sloppy execution, otherwise it would have been a ten. The head didn't come off as easy as I thought it would, figured it would go farther." She gave the head, which was still moaning and chewing maggots in its effort to growl, a petulant look.

"Are you...seriously scoring how you just decapitated that man?"

"Zombie. It's a zombie. _It_ ," Elyza corrected, voice emotionless.

The coldness of the statement sent a chill down Alicia's spine. She struggled not to focus on what Elyza meant, to believe that those creatures – people – were anything other than human. Biting her tongue, she resisted the impulse to argue; every part of her screamed that Elyza was wrong, but a saner part prevailed. If she argued, there was the possibility Elyza would not help her. She just needed the Australian until she was reunited with her family, then they could part ways.

"But a points system?" Who was she trying to fool? Arguing was as integral to her nature as breathing.

"Yeah, points. One through ten, based on factors such as how you kill, where you hit, how sloppy the job is, maximum gunk spray – basic stuff." Their shoulders brushed as Elyza stepped over Matt's father, who still lay on the porch, and into the house to replace the club within the caddy.

"Don't you respect the dead?" Alicia stammered, throwing her arm out in a gesture to the bodies in the yard. "Th-these people are sick! And you're making a game of killing them!"

"Gotta find some way not to go insane, Princess," Elyza slung the backpack of food over her shoulders, taking the motorcycle by the handlebars to wheel it out, "Ready to go?"

Alicia's mouth worked, but no sound emerged. " _Don't argue, let it go,_ " she hissed mentally. Glancing at the golf caddy, a thought struck her – a memory of something she had seen in the garage the day before. "Hold on," she disappeared down the hall, ducking into the garage after moving the chair that barred the door. In a pile of old sports equipment was a metal baseball bat. It was banged up from use, but it would do. She needed a weapon, and the bat provided range.

Gripping the bat's handle tightly, Alicia gave an experimental swing. The end was weighty, but she would adjust. She would learn to use it; she had to if she wanted to survive. To have a chance of surviving. Weapon in hand, she grabbed Matt's duffle made her way outside, giving the house one last look. She knew she would never see it again.

Elyza waited in the yard, straddling her bike. She revved the engine at Alicia's approach. "A bat? You joining the game, hot-stuff?"

"For defense," Alicia clarified, squinting skeptically at the motorcycle. She realized belatedly that she had not thought this through, and felt a pang of dread at the situation. She would be on a motorcycle. Behind Elyza. Who may or may not have known how to safely drive said motorcycle. How safe was the bike? Did Elyza know how to drive it? Or was she full of false bravado? "Do you even know how to drive this thing?" She asked lamely.

"Pfft," Elyza let out a bark of laughter, "yes. Princess, I've been driving one of these for a long time. I could drive it blindfolded, no problem. Wanna se-"

"NO!"

"Then all aboard."

"A murderer, a thief, _and_ a cocky motorcyclist. How did I get so lucky?" Alicia murmured, more to herself than to Elyza. She begrudgingly climbed on behind the Australian, shifting uncomfortably. It was hard to get comfortable around Elyza's backpack and without gripping the other girl's sides, but she stubbornly refused to hold on to the blonde – opting to grip the edges of the seat. The duffelbag on her back threatened to throw her weight off balance. 

Elyza chuckled quietly, though her eyes had darkened at the word _murderer._ She leaned to the side long enough for Alicia to see her hot-wiring job, the cords still bare and interlocked haphazardly. "You got thief right. Now hold on."

"I know what I-" The engine roared sharply, making Alicia shriek in surprise. Her hands flew to Elyza's waist, bunching in the worn leather of her jacket. It was rough beneath her fingertips, crusted blood peeling off beneath her nails. "Say nothing," she warned, "just drive."

"Your wish is my command," Elyza accelerated quickly, bringing the bike's front wheel a few feet off the ground. At Alicia's protesting scream, she brought it back under control and set a course deeper into the city.

XXXXX

Alicia gave directions over the wind, practically shouting to be heard. They passed the store Alicia and the boys had raided, the walker still sprawled on the pavement with a shattered skull. Closer to where the group had been staying, Elyza slammed on the brakes and spun the bike into a 180. Her foot came down, balancing the bike when it had come to a stop. It only took a moment for Alicia to realize why. A horde of walkers stood in the road, growling and turning toward them. Following the smell of fresh meat. Behind them, almost completely obscured by zombies, was the house her family had taken refuge in.

"Shi-it," Elyza grunted, scanning the group. Her fingers twitched over the machete at her hip. "Anybody you know?"

Alicia took deep, shuddering breaths – trying to be rational. Did she see anyone she knew? No. Not Madison, or Nick, or Chris, or Travis. Not Daniel or Ofelia. Not even anyone from her neighborhood or school, but LA was a big city. What mattered was that the walkers saw Elyza and she, and were shambling toward them. "No, no – and the cars are gone!" She craned her neck, finding the house looked deserted despite the walkers surrounding it.

"Hopefully they got out before these guys moved in," Elyza drew her shotgun from the holster across her back, plucking bullets from a pouch on her hip. She held a few between her teeth, slipping the others into the loading rod of the gun.

"...What if they didn't?" Alicia whispered. She wanted to strangle her family, but she loved them. She could not imagine losing Madison or Nick after the loss of her father and Matt. It would completely break her. And now, because fate had a sense of humor, she had to rely on Elyza Lex for help to figure out if her family had escaped or not.

Elyza glanced over her shoulder, a frown creasing her forehead. "What if they didn't?" She echoed, voice muffled around the shotgun shells. "Ye of little faith," she cracked the gun together, aiming it with one-hand at the approaching horde, "it's okay, I wanted to get some practice in anyway."

"What?"

Elyza pushed the kickstand down, throwing her leg over the seat to stand. The bike sank to the side, remaining upright. She took a few steps forward, taking an exaggerated sniff of the air. "Smell that? Smells like death!" Rolling her shoulders, that stupid snarky grin emerged, "How many do you think there are? 10? 15?"

"Elyza, you can't be serious..." Alicia trailed off, still seated on the bike. Was the Australian suicidal? This was not just one or two walkers, it was at least a dozen. "Just get back on the bike and let's go. I'm sure they got out, we can keep looking -"

"This is no scarier than the time I had to beat an emu out of my car. It came through the windshield, that sucker had a good kick. Besides, maybe they left you a note or something. Who knows?" Elyza pulled a lighter from one of her jacket pockets, then produced a flattened pack of cigarettes from the back-pocket of her jeans. She tossed them back to Alicia, "Light me one, would you? This shouldn't take long."

Alicia opened her mouth to call Elyza crazy, to stop her, to offer help – but the first shots rang out and she covered her ears at the sound. All she saw was Matt's head bursting apart, the blood splattering. She tried to focus on the present, desperately trying to will the memories away. Her eyes landed on Elyza, following her through the chaos. It was like watching a tornado on _Storm Trackers:_ all-consuming destruction, furious movements, and complete disregard for self. If Elyza was not gunning down walkers, she was using the machete to dismember them.

Alicia snapped back to herself when Elyza's shotgun hit the ground. The machete was embedded in a walker a few feet away. Too far. There was a walker right there, grabbing Elyza by the arm. Wrenching her toward its snapping teeth.

"Watch out!"

Elyza shoved the walker back, pulling a pistol from the waistband of her jeans. It had been tucked snugly against her back. She shot the last zombie, watching it fall before blowing imaginary smoke from the muzzle of the handgun. "Okay! That's gotta be a record! For the sheer number of the Rotfast Club, I'm gonna say a ten. What do you think? Ten? Ten."

"You're insane," Alicia shook her head. Her panic eased. Elyza was okay, despite how dire the situation had looked. It was a good thing, it meant she was not alone. Alone in a town of death. Alone without snarky comments and ridiculous points systems. Not that it mattered or was fun, but it was a nice distraction until they found the group.

"Only for pretty girls," Elyza took a cigarette from the pack Alicia still held, lighting it, "Pretty or no, you kind of suck at following orders."

Alicia looked across the corpses, gazing at the small house through the dancing heat waves. "Whatever. Good job. Nice trick with the gun. You can have your ten points." She dismounted the bike, keeping the baseball bat close as she picked her way over the bodies toward the front door. It was ajar, and her heart skipped a beat.

"Just wait til we teach you to use a gun."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter may have seemed slow, but I thought Alicia deserved time to mourn and to attempt compartmentalizing everything that's happened. I wanted to focus on that and give her time. The next chapter should be an adventure, as well as the introduction of a new character! Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed it. Thank you for reading. I'll try to update once a week, but it may be a little slower since I'm in college. It's always funny how writing stuff you enjoy goes so much faster than writing papers for class. Hah. Okay, now I have to write a paper that I procrastinated for one of my courses to get this done. See ya next time!  
> P.S. I'm always looking for more music to listen to while I write or for inspiration, so if anyone has any suggestions let me know.


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